


Flowers in the Third Floor Bedroom

by floweringjudas (manipulant)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Object Insertion, Rimming, Sibling Incest, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-27
Updated: 2011-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-28 06:44:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manipulant/pseuds/floweringjudas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ginny has an Accident. The twins "help."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flowers in the Third Floor Bedroom

**Author's Note:**

> I still cannot believe I wrote this.

The pink paint on the walls of Ginny Weasley's bedroom had been there ever since she was three days old.

Upon hearing that his seventh child was, beyond all expectations, a _girl_ , Arthur's first reaction had been to wail “Oh, Merlin, but the room's _blue_!” The blue still showed through in some patches, where Dad's haste to cover up the walls with a gallon of paint had left his brushstrokes uneven. Despite the lopsided appearance it gave her room, Ginny loved the vaguely purple splotches, even now that she was thirteen and three-quarters.

She loved the Humpty Dumpty and Snow White pictures on the walls less, however. They'd been there since she was four. ...And the lacy pink bedcovers were itchy and bland. And the collection of stuffed animals that she kept trying to pack away except it _still_ made Mum's eyes fill with tears, were bloody inconvenient to shove off the bed when she crawled into it each night.

And the assortment of bears and unicorns and plucked-bald dolls had a tendency to fix their black, lifeless eyes at Ginny accusingly whenever she did something wrong. _Especially_ when she was only trying to have a nice, relaxing wank.

Like now.

Frowning, exhaling as she dug her heels deeper into the mattress, Ginny scrunched up her face and shoved Mr. Teddy's cold plastic nose away from her shoulder with the hand that _wasn't_ tenting the elastic waistband of her knickers. She bit her lip and sighed again, skin going hot and sticky with sweat in her frustration as she circled two fingertips fast around her clit. It was taking _forever_ and she wasn't even close yet - footsteps kept on pounding up the stairs just by her door, throwing her out of her fantasies, and if Mum yelled _one more time_ about the twins' NEWTs scores -

“THREE. _THREE_ they got. _APIECE_ ,” her Mum's shrill voice suddenly filtered up, from the ground floor. “... _THREE_.”

Ginny let her head fall back against the headboard with a _thunk_ , and whimpered.

A crocheted, simpering doll tumbled off the mounds of stuffed toys to either side of her and into her lap, falling forwards with a cloying and more than slightly creepy _Maaa-ma_. Ginny stared at it in horror, and it slid off her lap and onto the mattress as she eased her hand out of her underwear. She stroked over its faded smile with moisture-tacky fingertips, then scowled and pushed it off the bed. A small, bubbling well of rage rose within her, and Ginny found herself reaching for the rest of the stuffed toys, throwing them forcefully off the bed as well, some of them hurled as far as the opposite wall before she ran out of ammunition and stopped, panting faintly.

“... _Fuck_ ,” she muttered, shivering with a vicious thrill as the word left her mouth for the first time, and she flopped back onto her pillows to calm down, squeezing her eyes shut and shivering again as she stretched out on the bed. The lace on the blankets itched pleasantly at the backs of her bare shins, and she stayed still for a moment, concentrating on the lace scratching maddeningly at a couple of mosquito bites. She sighed as she pressed her cheek against the cool material of the pillowcase. A dull throb still in between her legs kept her attention and, after the burst of anger had drained away, Ginny darted a tongue out to wet her bottom lip as she inched her fingers back under the waist of her pyjamas and her underwear, exhaling as they skritched through still-filling-in hair and stroked down. She closed her eyes.

 _Harry. Harry playing Quidditch. Harry revising in the library, biting his lip as he read. Harry coming up to her at dinner and asking to sit next to her. Harry smiling at her. Harry -_ oh _\- KISSING her. ...With TONGUES._

Ginny made a soft little noise, like she would if Harry kissed her maybe, and bit her bottom lip tighter, pressing her top lip against it like Harry might. Her fingers were getting sticky, smacking together as she started to get wet again, slicking around the nub of her clit, circling it coyly.

 _Harry saving her from the Basilisk. Harry looking down at her after he'd saved her and leaning down and KISSING her, RIGHT THERE. Harry hugging her tight, so tight she couldn't move against him and just had to hold on. Harry saying she was beautiful and would she like to come to Hogsmeade with him, and kissing her AGAIN, and them lying down on the floor and still kissing, and - and Harry would kiss her NECK -_

“Oh,” Ginny gasped, shuddering, turning to her side and curling around her busily-working hand. Her hips were beginning to move - she'd never thought of him kissing her neck before, and it was _so good_ \- her skin started to itch and tingle again and she moved her hips fitfully, rocking into her hand.

 _Harry undoing the buttons to her shirt and pulling down her bra straps_. Ginny shuddered and bit her lip, pale eyebrows knitting together as she tried to concentrate on how a Quidditch-calloused hand on her skin would feel. Whimpering quietly, turning her hot face into her pillow, she moved her free hand under the hem of her shirt and rubbed two fingertips firmly over her right nipple, pinching it when it grew hard. _Harry licking her there_.

A sudden image of Harry looking up at her over the tops of his glasses, his pink tongue sliding over her skin, made Ginny quake and moan into the fabric, going a little lightheaded with lack of air. Shaking, she shifted to lie on her back, still biting her lip hard as she tried to keep quiet, pressing her thighs tight around her hand. The tightness in her stomach was starting to uncoil, sending out the first shocks of impending climax, but she still needed _more_.

Releasing a held breath, almost sobbing as she wriggled frustratedly on the bedcovers, Ginny whined and curled her toes in the blanket. Head pressing back into her pillow, she opened her eyes. Her gaze fell onto the sidetable.

Onto her wand.

In hindsight, it probably wasn't the best idea for her to have grabbed it, but the handle was smooth and not too big and felt good in her hand ( _maybe the same size as Harry's -_ she blushed too much and couldn't finish the thought) and she _needed_ it too much to think clearly - Ginny stared at the wand handle for just a second before shuddering and working her pyjama bottoms down, tugging her clingy-wet underwear out of the way enough to press the wand there and just push in.

 _Oh_ \- she'd never had anything up there before, ever, and Ginny let out a burst of a breath, panting a little as she shook and pressed the handle further inside. It was _good_ , maddeningly good, and much more grown up than just touching herself had ever been, and that thought sent her reeling, gaspingly close to orgasm. Hands trembling, Ginny took a breath and pressed one fingertip tight to her clit and _pushed_ her wand in, yelping at a sudden sting, and then yelping again as the shock of pain pushed her into a blinding, breath-stealing climax. She arched into sitting, holding tightly to the end of her wand and the blankets as it went on and on, pulsing out from her middle to her arms and legs and head.

Finally, exhausted, she slumped back onto the mattress, and wriggled halfheartedly as an aftershock worked through her. Once she'd got her breath back, Ginny laughed and stretched out on the bed lazily, and reached a hand down (avoiding touching her clit) to pull her wand out.

It held fast.

Frowning, she tugged a little harder, and bit her lip as again the wand _refused_ to budge. Wiping her hands totally dry on the bedcovers, Ginny sat up and wrapped both hands around the sharper end of the wand, and pulled harder, enough to feel the force of the tug from inside.

The wand was still stuck in her.

... _Oh, shit_.

Ten minutes and two strained muscles later, Ginny was red-faced and teary-eyed and still staring, aghast, down at the stick of wood lodged up inside her. “... _shit_ ,” she muttered again, no longer feeling a thrill at the curse word. Her stomach was churning queasily. Merlin help her, she was going to need help to get the fucking thing out, and the only other girl in the house other than her Mum was Hermione, which - that was not an option. For one, she’d lecture, and for two, Hermione couldn’t be trusted with a secret farther than she could throw Crookshanks, she’d eventually tell Ron and Harry. And just the thought of _Harry_ knowing - Ginny swallowed hard against another dry heave. No, Hermione was out.

Her mum was out too, obviously. If Ginny ever wanted to leave the house again. Or have another moment unsupervised before she was thirty. ...Probably she’d be forced to live as a Squib if Mum or Dad found out. Probably that’s what really happened to that accountant cousin...

...For a moment, Ginny entertained the wild and somewhat intriguing thought of going to _Harry_ for help, but then reality forced its way back to the forefront of her mind and she hated herself for reading too many of Fred and George’s Muggle magazines they thought they’d kept hidden in the attic. No, Harry’d just blush and stammer, and he was probably preoccupied with trying to vanquish You-Know-Who. He didn’t have time for a half-arsed seduction attempt by a girl with a wand up her crotch.

 _Stupid_. Ginny scowled and punched her pillow, and whined quietly as the movement twisted the wand to an uncomfortable angle. ...She was going to have to do _something_ , obviously, she couldn’t go around for the rest of the summer with her wand stuck up there. Mum’d get suspicious if she started wearing skirts everyday, and anyway once September rolled around she’d need the wand for lessons.

“Shit,” Ginny muttered again, and began to giggle hysterically, thinking of how Charms lessons would go if she had to reach between her legs to aim her wand effectively. “Oh, shit.” Sliding gingerly off her bed, she waddled over to her wardrobe and began rooting around for a skirt that would hide her new appendage, at least til she managed to get rid of it.

Not Harry, not Hermione, not Mum, not Dad, not Ron - ugh, the idea made her stomach worse. Bill would’ve been a safe option but he’d buggered off to Egypt, wanker, and Charlie was even farther away in Romania, and Percy - oh _God_ , she’d rather die. And Percy’d probably faint dead away; Clearwater didn’t look the type to let a boy get to third base without a notarised legal document outlining his intentions.

So really, that only left her one choice.

...Technically, _two_ choices.

Resolved, lips settled in a thin line, Ginny shucked off her pyjama top and began the torturously slow process of getting dressed. ...She could always use the tits-and-arse magazine collection in the attic as blackmail, if Fred and George wanted to get difficult.

 

***

 

As always, the twins’ bedroom didn’t resemble a human habitat so much as a...cave. Or a _pit_ , a pit was a better word to describe the dim, foetid, claustrophobic chaos of the room. Once she’d managed to bypass the shoddy locking charm, Ginny had to shove the door open against a stack of old Martin Miggses blocking the way. The beds were indistinguishable underneath small mountains of clothes, and on the long table serving as the twins’ desk, there were dirty plates and schoolbooks, and a beaker full of coagulating purple goo, bubbling over a firelighter. The walls were decorated with posters of the Wasps and the Arrows, and there was one of Stubby Boardman over one bed. Ginny giggled at the glossy photo of Gilderoy Lockhart that had been tacked to one of the wardrobe doors - a few darts were sticking out of the former professor’s perfectly-shaped nose. There was also the omnipresent Smell of a boy’s bedroom: equal parts old socks, musky-spicy cologne, and corn chips.

Wrinkling her nose, Ginny peered interestedly at the beaker on the desk and wondered what sort of magical laws the twins were breaking this week. Before she could entirely forget her reason for coming, however, there was a muffled whump from inside the wardrobe, and it shook slightly, shocking her out of her inspection.

“Oi, didn’t take long, did you remember the billywigs?” came a familiar voice, and one of the doors shoved open as a twin half-spilled out, carrying an armful of boxes as he tried to negotiate the step down from inside the dimensionally-enhanced wardrobe onto the floor. “Fred, you _did_ remember the billywigs, the whole thing’s bloody useless if y - "

“I’m not Fred,” Ginny informed him, raising an eyebrow at her brother’s shocked expression as he stood up. “You should change the password to your door, it’s been ‘Percy’s a git’ for two years.”

“It’s a classic,” George replied, recovering quickly. He gave her a narrow-eyed look and started picking up the boxes he’d dropped. “Seen Fred? Why’d you come in here, anyway, haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”

“No, I haven’t seen Fred. What d’you need billywigs for?”

“To sting nosy younger sisters in their sleep,” he said, nonchalant, stacking the boxes on one edge of the table. “Now clear off, we don’t need you underfoot while we reinvent the wizarding jokes industry.”

Ginny rolled her eyes and shifted her weight from one foot to the other, wincing at how the wand end chafed at her thighs. “Shut up, George, I need a favour.”

“Oh, that’s rich. Tell me to shut up and then request a _favour_ ,” he chuckled, shoving a hand through his hair, mussing it irreparably. “Well, what can I do for you, _madam_?” he asked, giving her a mocking bow before he took the boiling beaker off its heat.

Ginny bit her lip. “...You have to promise not to tell.”

George’s left eyebrow quirked. “Do I?”

She nodded, her cheeks pinking, fingers twisting around the bottom hem of her skirt. “Especially not Harry or Mum.”

“Es- _pe_ -cially not Harry or _Mum_ ,” George repeated, beginning to smirk. “Well now. _That’s_ interesting.” He leaned back against the table, propped on an elbow, grinning at her like the Cheshire cat.

“Geo-orge, _promise_ ,” she pleaded. “This isn’t a joke.”

“Now, Gin, I think you’ll find that everything can be a j - " the words died in his mouth as, unbidden, his sister lifted up the front of her skirt: there, three feet away from where he was standing, George could suddenly see the faded print of her underwear (they were either butterflies or strawberries) and a tiny, shocking bit of red fuzz (two shades lighter than his own) and the incongruously black, tapered end of her wand disappearing between the joining of her thighs. For the first time, Ginny saw her brother speechless.

“...um,” he tried, and failed, to speak. He gaped at the spectacle for a few more seconds, then tried again. “Ouch.”

“Yeah,” Ginny said, her voice suddenly small, and dropped her skirt again. She rubbed her arm and glanced around the room skittishly, not sure what to do next. She looked so nervous and little then that George’s big-brother instincts overrode any desire to laugh or make fun, and he walked the five steps that separated them and patted her hand lightly.

“How long’s it been there?” he asked, sounding uncharacteristically earnest.

“...Twenty minutes?” she offered, glancing up at him with big brown eyes. He winced and nodded.

“Well, here.” Frowning at the room around him, George rubbed his chin and then shoved the clothes off of his bed, looking as surprised as Ginny to find that underneath all the laundry, the bedcovers were still perfectly made. “...huh. Y’know, I can’t remember making the bed all summer. We should really clean.”

To both of their relief, Ginny giggled quietly at that, and perched on the edge of the bed, wiggling onto it more securely. “Ew, George,” she muttered, legs dangling as she managed to sit all the way back. “It’s not _hygienic_ ,” she said almost primly, using one of Hermione’s favourite words.

George smirked and gave a pointed glance down at her lap. “I can think of a few other things that aren’t,” he retorted, snickering at the halfhearted swipe to his arm Ginny gave. “Put your back up against the headboard,” he suggested, moving to the table long enough to start shuffling books and dirty dishes and a few potions experiments gone awry out of the way, before he triumphantly produced a little pot of...something. Turning around, he saw the suspicious look Ginny was giving him, and gave her an only vaguely reassuring grin. “Stole it from Sprout, third year. It’s only a Soothing Salve, it looked like the thing was hurting your legs.”

“Oh.” Ginny blinked and nodded, and heaved a sigh as she lifted up her skirt again, going pink as she opened her legs a little - the insides of her thighs _were_ striped a raw and angry-looking red where the wandtip had been. “Yeah, a bit.”

“Well.” George shrugged and opened the jar, and the scent of aloe wafted between them. He slicked two of his fingertips with the blue salve and rubbed them gently against the chafed parts of her thigh, shocking Ginny with the casual familiarity of his touch. She hadn’t been touched anywhere near there by a family member since she’d stopped having her baths with Ron _years_ ago, when they were small. A few seconds later, the low-level tingling of the salve fell into place, and Ginny closed her eyes and sighed her approval, not noticing how her brother’s ears went a bit red.

“S’good,” she breathed, and a minute later it was - the skin was no longer red or swollen, and George did spend a few extra seconds making sure he’d got everywhere. “Thanks,” she murmured, settling back against the headboard, giving him a small, crooked smile. George returned it, and set the jar of salve on the bed.

“‘Course. ...Now.” He gave a little nervous look at the wand itself, nestled snugly, smugly inside her, and he reached his forefinger and thumb up, just grasping the tip of the wand and moving it from left to right gently. Ginny closed an eye and bit her lip at the sheer _weirdness_ of feeling those little movements inside her, and George stopped immediately, looking up at her. “Hurt?”

“No. Just it won’t _move_ , no matter what I do,” she huffed, thighs falling open a bit more. George grimaced at how her underwear webbed that much tighter around the wand, cutting into the dark pink skin around it in what _had_ to be a painful way. A thought suddenly struck him.

“...D’you always keep your pants on when you...?” he asked curiously. Both he and Ginny blushed when they’d both processed the question entirely. “Nevermind,” he mumbled, tilting his head to get a better look.

“Um. Yeah,” she mumbled, even quieter. “...More convenient.”

“Huh.” He thought about that for a moment, and shrugged a shoulder, chalking it up as another difference between sexes. “Well, they need to come off, they’re cutting into you. Can you?”

“Oh. Um. ...Yeah, just.” As if it was physically possible, Ginny was sure she felt herself go even redder. “Just can you make sure it doesn’t...bang around?”

“Oh. ...Right, nevermind,” George said, frowning a little in concentration as he readjusted his plans. Suddenly there were hands ( _boy_ hands) on both of Ginny’s thighs, and then George was moving them up, up to the top hem of her underwear, rough fingers curling around the elastic waistband to pull it down. “Could you maybe lift your hips?” he asked, fingertips dragging along Ginny’s skin interestingly, making her break into goosebumps even as she did what he asked. She closed her eyes for a moment, murmuring silently as George moved her legs back together, shivering as she felt the still-damp material peel away from her crotch.

There was a shock of cold against her clammy skin, and then a familiar stale-earth smell that made her breath catch in her throat, on a sob - _George_ could smell her too, probably, and maybe he knew about girls and all that gross stuff already but _maybe_ he thought she was just nasty, and the thought of her own _brother_ thinking that about her - her own brother who’d seen _all_ of her when nobody ever had before -

Before she could stop them, two hot tears leaked out of the corners of her closed eyes, and she shuddered as she tried not to cry.

“Oi,” George whispered, voice closer to her ear than it had been. “Hey, it’s all right,” he muttered, patting her knee til she opened her eyes again, fixed them blurrily on his kindly face. “Look, they’re off,” he said helpfully, offering the rolled-up underwear to her. Ginny sniffed and snatched them away, and then gave a broken little sob, curling in towards him. “Shh, Gin,” he muttered, scooting up to settle beside her, wrapping an arm around her awkwardly. “S’okay. We’ll fix it.”

She nodded and they stayed nestled there together, George’s mouth on Ginny’s curls, her bare thighs pressed against his jeans, for a minute or more before she finally rustled enough to lie on her back again. “Okay,” she murmured, and brought a hand up to wipe all evidence of her tears away, and pressed her lips together tightly for a second. “We’ll fix it.”

“...Wow, that’s a good idea, wish _I’d_ thought of it,” George drawled after a small pause, effectively throwing her out of Dramatic Monologuing mode and making her smile. He waggled his eyebrows at her and shuffled down onto the mattress, rucking up the blanket and curling around her more comfortably, hovering over her. Propped up as he was on one elbow, George pursed his lips as he considered the situation, and nodded. “Here. ...Tell me if it hurts,” he said, and reached between her thighs to grab the end of the wand tightly. He tugged gently, wrist at an incline, and while the wand stayed lodged firmly inside her as she’d expected, Ginny _wasn’t_ expecting the sudden indirect pressure to her no-longer-tender clit. She exhaled, the sound loud in the small room. “Okay?” George asked, raising his eyebrows down at her.

“Yeah,” she said tightly. “It didn’t hurt, I mean. Didn’t move, either.”

“Dunno, I thought I might’ve felt some give,” George argued, his voice gentle, and his breath was hot against Ginny’s ear, and he repeated the motion two more times. Ginny quaked a little and closed her eyes again, biting down hard on a whimper that wanted to escape as the bulk of the wand was pressed firmly in _just_ the right spot.

It might have been her imagination making everything worse, but Ginny thought she could feel a familiar trickling working its way around the handle inside her. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter and tried to think of other things - there was _no way_ she was going to compound the perversity of the situation by even _thinking_ about enjoying what George was doing to her.

“I think it moved a bit!” George said excitedly, and he yanked the wand a bit harder, giving Ginny an apologetic look when she yelped at the tug of it.

“ _Ow_ , you git,” she hissed, opening one eye to glare up at him. “Not so hard.” Both her eyes opened as George turned red, his freckles standing out more against his skin.

“Sor- _ree_ ,” he muttered, not sounding sorry at all as he tried twisting the wand a bit inside her. Ginny’s legs shook from the surprising amount of sensation that produced, and her lips parted as she tried to think of _anything_ but what he was doing to her - Quidditch, Professor Flitwick, the packing she’d have to do for school. George didn’t seem to notice - he was too busy resituating, moving her legs apart enough to sit between them, propping her thighs on his own. “Did that hurt?”

“N-no,” she breathed, brows knitting together. Like it or not, things had got decidedly more slick between her legs in the past minute. Ginny just prayed George wouldn’t notice.

“All right,” he said, resting part of his weight on a hand beside her shoulder as he moved the wand in and out steadily for the next few minutes. George watched his sister’s face carefully for any sign of distress, but apart from a few winces and gasps, Ginny didn’t seem to be in much pain. “...Think I can see the end of the wand handle,” he murmured after a bit, and Ginny craned down to look - the lip of the handle _was_ just visible outside of her, now, and the relief at seeing it worked through her with a sigh.

“Good, keep going,” she whispered, canting her hips. She closed her eyes again and laid her head back on the pillow, clenching her jaw as she tried to keep perfectly still while George worked, tried to keep secret how wet she was getting from the wand moving continually inside her.

George swallowed noisily and shifted on the bed a moment later, his breath warm and barely there on her forehead. He had to close his eyes for a moment too - like it or not, the feel and smell and sight of a girl on his bed, half-naked and needing him, had begun to take effect and his cock didn’t much seem to care that they were siblings - it twitched interestedly in his jeans just the same. And then Ginny made matters worse by giving one of those little _shivers_ again and his grip slipped a little, and he accidentally shoved the wand farther in that he’d meant to. George froze and opened his eyes quickly, expecting to be told off.

What he _wasn’t_ expecting was to see Ginny shudder, or see her hips give a tentative downward thrust. _Onto_ her wand.

“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes suddenly wide. He moved the wand back inside her, this time more intent on pushing it inside her than pulling it out. Beneath him, Ginny quaked and licked her lips, and he could feel the muscles in her legs tensing. Her eyes slitted open and glimmered up at him.

“Sorry,” she whispered, cheeks flushing. “Sorry, I - “

“No, s’fine,” he whispered back, having to rest on his elbows since his arm felt about ready to collapse suddenly. “It’s helping to get it out, so it’s fine,” he justified quickly, always ready with an excuse, and touched the line of his nose to her cheek. They both shuddered as their physical closeness caught up to them - George could smell the floral shampoo only Ginny used, Ginny could have counted the freckles on her brother’s nose. Both flushed at the mingled heat between them.

Ginny didn’t seem to need much convincing. She nodded and closed her eyes again, tilting her head towards his touch. George couldn’t help it, he’d never been able to refuse his sister or walk away from a challenge, so he grabbed a firmer hold on the wand end and _twisted_ , wanting to see her hips move again, wanting to see her tremble.

George gasped when, instead, Ginny’s back left the mattress in an arch, and she gave a soft, low moan. “Geo-orge,” she whined, drawing out the _o_ in a way that raised the hairs on the back of his neck, and she _writhed_ underneath him, bloody _writhed_ , and George had the insane thought that Ginny had no right being able to do something that looked that _sexy_ , she was too young. “Push up,” she ordered, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth, biting it gently. “Like before.”

“What, like this?” George asked innocently, attempting and mostly failing to get the exact same angle he’d had just a few minutes before. Ginny put up with the first few strokes, then whimpered her frustration and fumbled one hand over, eventually closing around her brother’s wrist.

“No, _up_.” She tilted the wand and huffed another breath when it ground just under her clit, and curled her toes in the blanket. “Just there.” Her eyelids fluttered as George exacted revenge by a swift series of pushes and pulls in the exact same place.

“Bossy,” he muttered, and Ginny could hear the smirk in his voice.

“‘Least _one_ of us knows what she’s doing,” she muttered back, whining in the back of her throat as, a second later, George twisted the wand handle inside her. “ _Shit_ , yes.”

“You were saying?”

“Shut up and do that again,” she hissed, rocking up to meet his hand. The breath of his snigger stirred her hair, and Ginny was surprised to feel herself smiling at that, forgetting to feel guilty and dirty as she concentrated on how _good_ George was making her feel, how his hand was mostly steady now as it pumped the wand in and out of her, how he was panting with her ( _...huh_ ), how the knots in the wand handle were absolutely brilliant inside of her. “Merlin.”

“Yeah,” George breathed, having to close his eyes along with her for a moment, long enough to try to concentrate on something other than getting Ginny off or how her bitty little tits were jiggling underneath her t-shirt (he had made fun of her for those little bumps two days ago, it was really embarrassing for him to be thinking about how they’d make a good handful now) or how his prick was approaching the hardness of granite. “Damn.” Another one of Ginny’s little moans, and George shuddered, faltering in his rhythm, his sweat-slick palm making him tug the wand a bit harder than he’d meant to, and -

Ginny’s moan suddenly ratcheted up two octaves, and they both opened their eyes at the same time, startled. Their gazes immediately shot down between them, to where Ginny’s wand was dangling from George’s fingertips, innocent and completely free and dripping from its handle onto his bedcover. George released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and forced his gaze back up to Ginny’s face, not sure what he was going to discover there.

Ginny’s eyes stayed where they were. ...Actually, they slid about eight inches back and to the left, to where there was a telltale bulge hitting across the crotch of George’s jeans. “ _God_ ,” she whispered, not noticing how George was staring at her, not noticing how her hips bucked, a second later, needing to finish, needing release.

She didn’t even think about it, she just moved - Ginny snaked a hand down and George’s first thought was that she was going to go for the wand, that it was over, but then, fuck, then he felt her little bony wrist brushing his own and then _holy shitting Merlin_ there were little fingers _undoing his jeans_.

“Come on,” she muttered under her breath, her hips working against the air again as she craned and tried to pry apart the fastenings to George’s trousers. “Come _on_.”

“Yeah,” was all George’s mouth could form, and then he was sitting up, up on his haunches as he pulled Ginny’s hand away with trembling fingers and managed to undo his button and zip. He pushed the material off his hips hastily, enough not to risk self-injury, just enough to get his prick and balls out, hissing in relief just from _that_ as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. Two seconds later he opened them, opened them to Ginny staring at him, at his cock, and _fuck_ her lips were red and he could see where she was still wet on her thighs and she was reaching for him.

And then he was on her, lips on her cheek and her jaw and just under it and she tasted like apples, and she was whining again, fidgeting forward on his lap, the pads of her fingers pushing the spongy head of his cock between her thighs and then Ginny _squeezed_ and _fuck_ he had to bite down a little, had to lick just at where her pulse was fluttering. “Oh,” she said, voice small and thin, “ _oh_ George please,” and he groaned and rocked against her, slicking through her folds, against her clit, and then _there_ , he was inside, pushing into hot and wet and tight and she was going still except for where she was rippling around him and oh fuck, he was _fucking_ her.

Ginny gasped and wiggled her hips a little to try and accommodate (he was bigger than the wand), and fisted handfuls of George’s t-shirt in her hands, curling up against him, forehead almost touching his shoulder.

“Y’okay?” he asked, breathless as he kept rolling his hips, tiny little circles as they both fought to get used to the weirdly full feeling of sex. Ginny nodded and eventually let her head fall back against the pillow, her eyes mostly closed, her breasts and shoulders jostled gently as George moved in and out and in. They stayed that way for the next minute or so, mostly silent except for a handful of shudders and gasps as they moved, getting used to things, getting used to each other.

...Given that they were facing away from the door, and that George was still mostly dressed, especially from the back, and that all one could really see of Ginny behind the bulk of his body were her bare legs, it was understandable that Fred didn’t know what he was walking into until after he closed the bedroom door behind himself, bag of billywigs in hand.

“Oi, George, y - oh holy _Merlin_!” he squawked, eyes nearly falling out of his head as he realised that his twin and his sister weren’t fighting or wrestling. On the bed, George and Ginny froze guiltily, both of them trying to look over George’s left shoulder to see if Fred was going to start shouting or worse, run and get a parent.

“...Damn,” George mumbled, and dropped his head to Ginny’s shoulder. Finally able to peer around the bulk of his shoulder, Ginny gave Fred a wide-eyed look for a second, but then George’s cock gave a little twitch inside her and her eyelids fluttered. Her hands clutched harder at the front of his shirt and she rocked down onto him again, not caring if Fred saw, kind of glad that he _did_.

“He won’t tell,” she hissed, her whisper loud in the quiet of the room. “He _won’t_ , George, keep going,” she begged, turning her head to lick at his earlobe, suck it into her mouth.

Closer to the door, Fred broke into a smirk. “No, I won’t tell,” he agreed, his voice low and smug, his cheeks beginning to flush at the small sounds their bodies made as Ginny kept moving. “Keep going, George. Ginny wants you to.”

The muscles in George’s arms bunched, and he shivered, hips snapping, driving into Ginny enough to make her keen. “Oh, fuck - _don’t_ ,” he pleaded, having to move now he’d started again, having to work himself deeper into Ginny’s tight little hole.

“Don’t what?” Fred asked innocently, moving towards the bed, smiling sharklike, predatory and wide. “Does she feel good? Did you get to pop her open or have you two been doing this for years?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” George heard Ginny breathe underneath him, and her muscles clenched around him, squeezing out his breath. Suddenly protective of her, George opened his eyes and turned to try to glare at his twin.

“Shut up,” he hissed, curling his shoulders in possessively, scowling as Fred finally walked into his line of sight, still with the same infuriating smirk on his lips. “Just shut up.”

“No, it’s my first time,” Ginny gasped, quicker on the uptake than George, writhing harder on his dick as she answered Fred’s question. Dumbfounded, George turned and stared at her, eyes catching hers. She shivered, but kept talking as she rocked to meet George’s thrusts. “He’s the first - “ she licked her lips “ - first _cock_ I’ve ever had and you’re watching me take it.”

“... _Ginny_ ,” George moaned, shocked and shuddering at her voice, having to force his hips to stop before he came. Ginny’s eyes rolled back into her head and she kept fucking herself down onto him.

“What’s he feel like?” Fred asked, ignoring George entirely, eyes focused on his sister.

“Ohhh - big,” she whispered, eyes falling closed. “Hot. Sort of weird, but good. Especially when he’s all the way in.”

“Shit,” George whispered, staring at her too. “...oh, shit, you two are _evil_ ,” he gasped, wincing as he brought a hand down to Ginny’s hips, tightening his fingers til he managed to get her to stay still. “Hang on.”

“What’s the matter, Georgie-porgie? Cold feet?” Fred teased, and the mattress dipped low suddenly as he perched on the end.

“No, m’about two seconds from _coming_ , git,” he hissed. Below him, Ginny giggled, and unclenched one of her hands from his shirt, bringing it down to rub between her legs, above where his cock was nestled. She kept her eyes closed, and sighed. George took a few deep breaths, glad to be able to get his control back, and moaned softly when he felt lips at the back of his neck. “...evil,” he croaked, chin falling to his chest to give Fred better access to keep kissing.

“As if there was any doubt,” Fred said, shrugging, licking away the beginnings of sweat from George’s skin. “What’s she feel like?” he asked, just before biting down gently, laving his tongue against reddened skin.

“Mmm, tight. Wet, God, she’s dripping,” George supplied, easily now that the last of his anxiety about being caught had drifted away. “Especially now she’s touching herself.” Ginny huffed a little breath, catching her bottom lip between her teeth as her fingers moved a little faster, mewling quietly. “Hot,” he breathed, watching her, skin breaking out in goosebumps as Fred kept licking over him.

“Sounds familiar,” Fred murmured. “Fuck her some more, she needs it. Hear the noises she’s making?”

“Oh, shit,” Ginny whimpered, trying to force her eyes open, “yeah, George, _please_. Need it.”

“...I hate you _so much_ ,” George muttered to Fred, breath catching as his twin bit him again, his hips beginning to work slowly, steadily pushing his prick into Ginny.

“I know,” Fred murmured almost kindly, rubbing his shoulder. “Keep going.”

There was a quiet moment as George and Ginny writhed together - Fred actually kept his peace for a bit, kissing and licking at the back of George’s neck still, sucking an inconvenient mark just below his ear. Below George, Ginny stretched out on the mattress, feeling a bit lightheaded with arousal, a bit disconnected from her body. She gazed down through slitted eyes to where George’s cock was pistoning in and out of her, and a tremor worked through her chest, out through her limbs. She wasn’t a virgin anymore, which was a weird thought, and it hadn’t hurt her when George had pushed in - she’d overheard some of the older Gryffindor girls saying that it was supposed to hurt like anything. The _wand_ had hurt more than George had, she scoffed inwardly. _Babies_. Feeling quite pleased with herself, Ginny gave George a smirk and stretched again, sliding a hand under her top to pinch a nipple, showing off. “Kiss my neck?” she offered, tilting her head.

George grinned down at her, a little incredulous. “Get _you_ ,” he chuckled, but leaned in obediently, his laughter making funny little snuffling sounds in her neck before he started to lip over her skin interestedly. The little lick he darted against her skin made her shiver.

“Who’d’ve thought. Ginny Weasley, a first-class strumpet,” Fred agreed, grinning down at her over George’s shoulder. She stuck a tongue out at him, and mumbled for George to stay _right there_ where he was. When Fred smirked and disappeared back over George’s shoulder again, she closed her eyes, letting her world focus down to the lips on her neck, the tongue flicking over her pulse, how it was _better_ than she’d imagined.

Then, suddenly, George tensed and pulled his mouth away, his hands clenching the bedsheets near her shoulders. Ginny cracked an eye open, annoyed with the lapse in rhythm, and wriggled. “...Fred, _don’t_ ,” he moaned, words muffled a little by Ginny’s hair, and Ginny paused as well since she’d _never_ heard George sound like that.

“What’s going on?” she murmured, spitting George’s hair out of her mouth, almost scared as she felt her older brother quake on top of her. “...George, you all right?” He shivered again, and Ginny couldn’t _see_ Fred, she could only see one of his hands on George’s hip. “Fred, what’re you doing?” she asked, attempting severity as she tried to crane up to see what was going on.

“Oh fuck, he’s - _oh_ ,” George shivered, slumping against her, going still. Ginny was suddenly aware of a curious wet, smacking sound coming from behind them, and it took her another moment to catch up, another moment to figure out what Fred was _doing_ , that he was _licking_ George back there, putting his tongue on and in George’s arsehole -

\- and that George _liked_ it.

“Oh god, please,” he whispered, and it took Ginny a second to realise that he was _talking to Fred_ , and he sounded so needy and lost and _hot_ that Ginny was feverishly working her hips down on him again before she even realised, she was fucking herself on her brother while his twin ate him out, she was getting off on the sounds they made together and oh god George was getting louder and moving inside her again, slower than before, and Fred was _slurping_ at him like an ice pop and it was - fuck, it was sloppy and squelchy and almost disgusting and it was _the hottest thing she’d ever heard_.

 _They’ve done this before_ , Ginny thought suddenly, and she gasped and her hips rotated as she saw, behind her eyelids, a sudden image of Fred and George doing this together, doing this without her, George whining underneath his brother as Fred fucked him with his tongue and his fingers and then maybe his _cock_.

A high whine interrupted her thoughts, and Ginny opened her eyes, startled when she realised the noise was coming from _her_. Shuddering, Ginny tried to move faster, tried to take George’s cock in deeper, hampered by how George suddenly wouldn’t _move_ enough now that she wasn’t the only one paying attention to him. Frustrated, turned on more than she’d ever been in her _life_ by the sounds the twins were making together, she whined again and stretched a leg, trying to kick Fred in his sides, trying to get his attention.

“Fred,” she squeaked. “Fred, _please_ , he’s shaking and he won’t _move_ , you’ve got to make him move again, please,” she begged, the familiar ache at the center of her stomach spreading and tingling throughout her. “Make him _move_.”

Fred appeared over the top of George’s shoulder again, red-faced and wet-lipped as he gave Ginny a quick wink. “You heard the girl. Where’s the lube?”

“Out,” George whimpered. “Used it all last week. ...Here,” he said, a flash of brilliance crossing through his brain, and he reached for the hand Fred had on his hip and dragged it forward, tugging him closer til Fred’s fingers were sliding through the wet, matted hair between Ginny’s thighs.

“ _George_!” Ginny squawked, indignant for half a second before Fred’s index and middle fingers wormed between her folds and just over her clit, collecting enough of her own lubrication to rub onto George’s hole. “...nnh, _Fred_ ,” she protested weakly, more that those fingers were _gone_ almost as soon as they’d appeared. “Gits,” she muttered, feeling used and a bit dirty and rather liking it, all told.

“Shh. God, _faster_ Fred, m’not going to break,” George hissed, trying to buck back against his twin and forward onto his sister, trying to make up his mind.

“...Yeah, faster,” Ginny echoed, watching them with wide eyes, trying to keep up with the crash tutorial in Gay Sex she was receiving (she’d never before found her lessons so interesting). She couldn’t see much, but she could _feel_ to make up for it - George’s cock twitching in her as Fred pushed two fingers inside, the condensation of his breath against her collarbones as he gasped when another was added. “Shh,” she heard herself saying, rubbing his back gently, tensing and arching along with him when something apparently went _very_ right inside him. “Is it okay?” she whispered.

“Yeah,” George whispered back, his eyes closed, his head resting on her shoulder as she stroked through his hair almost maternally. “Yeah, he’s - _oh_.” His hands clutched in the bedsheets again, and Ginny couldn’t help whimpering and clenching around him as she felt rather than saw Fred push his way inside.

Ginny and George were both mostly still, except for a few minor quakes that seemed contagious, since they passed from George’s body through to Ginny’s, like a yawn. Finally, Fred gasped and curled over George’s back, keeping his eyes shut as he pressed slack lips to the side of George’s neck and began to thrust, pushing his hips into George and George’s hips onto Ginny’s. “Okay?” he gasped, and both Ginny and George squeaked their approval.

Beneath the three of them, the bedsprings were creaking violently, and the metal frame of the bed itself ground against the windowsill and down into the wood floor. Ginny’s thighs were pushed apart almost uncomfortably wide now that both twins were settled between them, and her lower back ached until she realised she could still lock her ankles around _Fred_ ’s back. It was a minute more and a few false starts til they all found a natural rhythm, but once they did, they caught it and held it, letting Fred’s thrusts circle and expand, letting him and his sister trap George between them, pinning and pinned.

Fred thrust harder, pushing George down deeper into Ginny, making them both moan and cling to each other while they were used, and then George’s breath was hot against Ginny’s cheek again and she turned her head innocently, turned to face him and give him a heavy-lidded smile, and he smiled back and kissed her - her first kiss - and his tongue was hot and slick and heavy inside her mouth, same as his cock, and it felt just as good, having him in her in two different places -

and then she was arching unexpectedly, shoved towards her peak by the kiss and Fred moaning both their names, and she clamped her legs around both of them and keened into George’s mouth and nearly shook apart as she came, the world threatening to grey out just before she began to come down.

Seconds later, George had torn his mouth away, gasping in great lungfuls of air as first Ginny squeezed around him like a vise and then Fred fucked in harder, angling _just_ right so that he couldn’t hold on anymore, and then George was bucking against them both and coming too, quiet and quaking as he shot deep into Ginny, filling her, making her squirm at the odd sensation of fluid sliding around inside her. Overwhelmed, George flumped down onto her once he’d finished, rolling his prick gently in her, trying to keep his hips canted up for Fred, who was still pumping away, whimpering himself now that he’d watched both his twin and his sister come.

“Come on, Fred,” George murmured, and smirked a little as he clamped his muscles tight around him, and Fred groaned, low and long, as he was suddenly _stuck_ in place, in George’s arse, his climax sucked from him as he hunched over his brother's back and poured himself out.

Panting, Fred slumped down onto George’s back, neither of them noticing how Ginny was gasping underneath them til two heels had dug themselves painfully into Fred’s sides. “ _Air_ ,” Ginny croaked, and kicked at him again, til both the twins were shaking silently with laughter and Fred had managed to pull out and crash down onto the mattress beside her, groaning as he stretched out. “You too,” Ginny muttered, poking George in the ribs, making him whine pitifully as he stayed where he was, sprawled between her legs with his cock still resting quietly inside her.

“Harpy. Stoppit,” he muttered, batting her hand away.

“Stop using my tits as earwarmers, then,” she countered, continuing to pester him until he’d pulled out of her and the three of them had rearranged themselves, more or less comfortably squished together on the tiny mattress with Ginny sandwiched between them. “Mmph,” she said, stifling a yawn, “I can’t feel my legs.”

“M’just that good,” George quipped, catching her yawn, his jaw creaking as he returned it.

“No offence, but next time it’ll have to be Fred, since he doesn’t last more than a couple of minutes,” she murmured, giggling at the half-conscious squawk and pull to her left nipple that Fred gave, from behind her.

“Tart,” George muttered sleepily.

“Fairy.”

“Scarlet woman.”

“Lavender lad.”

“As the alpha male in the room, I say both of you belt up so I can sleep. M’wrecked,” Fred declared, spooning closer around Ginny, managing to get an arm almost entirely across George’s back. “If Mum comes, say we were trying to do wandless laundry.”

“If Mum comes,” Ginny mumbled, her eyelids growing heavy, “we’re fucked.”

“We’re fucked anyway,” George observed, his eyes closed, his nose against Ginny’s temple. "Might as well enjoy it.”

And the other two seemed to catch the wisdom in the statement, because a few wordless minutes later, they were all fast asleep.


End file.
